


Desperate I Will Crawl

by darkforetold



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackwatch Era, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Canonical Character Death, False Accusations, M/M, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12777705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: The beginning, middle and end of Gabriel Reyes and Jesse McCree.He refused to spiral down that hole again, the vast and empty space that Jesse had left inside him. It was a gaping wound he’d learned to bandage over with anger and hatred. He clenched the dog tags tight, letting shadow and ash fall off him like mist. Then he saw it, another note.Our middle…same messy scrawl.A pattern. Beginning, middle—He didn’t need to look at the tablet to know where Jesse was headed to next.Their story only had one ending.





	1. Day 1 - Path

**Author's Note:**

> This is a seven-part series/story for McReyes Week 2017!
> 
> Thank you to my lovely, patient beta @IndiannahJones. Without your guidance, this story would be a hell of a lot messier than it is. Thank you for cleaning up my writing and helping me polish it. I couldn't have done it without you. <33
> 
> And thank you to my Collie girl for basically everything. You're the best new friend a girl could ask for. <3
> 
> [McReyes Week 2017 Prompts]
> 
> Day 1 – Path  
> Day 2 – Desolate  
> Day 3 – New  
> Day 4 – Burden  
> Day 5 – Sensitive  
> Day 6 – Pattern  
> Day 7 – Defy

  
  


Routine. The quarterly visit by their UN representative, Ellison Adock, happened like clockwork. His arrival at headquarters was never a day too early or late, and always at an reasonable hour when the sun and Jack’s daily coffee quota were at their peak. The agenda was always the same; ten to fifteen minutes of talking about new agents, inventory and equipment before the three of them took up a corner in the rec room to catch up. There, they told stories about missions, talked about the news, politics, and Eli’s newfound hobby: sewing. All while Eli tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at Gabriel with the kind of hero worship that belonged to a boy, not a forty-some-year-old man.

Today, that all changed.

Eli was one week early. The sun was just rising, and instead of a cozy spot in rec, Jack and Gabriel were led to one of the conference rooms. Inside, Eli sat at the head of the table, hands interlaced, steepled at his mouth. There was no hero worship in those cold, gray eyes but a brewing storm. He’d always scrambled to greet them despite needing a cane to walk. Always smiled like he was greeting old friends. But that was then. Now, he sat motionless, his cane a guardian, his face made of marble.

—and he wasn’t alone.

Two armed guards flanked him, with a petite woman in glasses sitting at Ellison’s right, tablet in hand and ready like a weapon. The nervousness in the air, four hearts aflutter—they were scared. Gabriel could feel it, _hear_ it.

“Strike Commander Morrison. Commander Reyes.” Not _Jack_ and _Gabe_. “Please have a seat.”

Manicured nails skittered like spiders over tablet keys. Echoing everything said. _Recording it_.

“Eli…” Jack motioned to the room, the state of things. “What’s this about?”

“Have a seat,” Eli repeated. “And it’s Mr. Adock, please.”

Jack and Gabriel exchanged secret looks. Eli— _Adock_ indicated to the seats next to him, and Jack was the first to do what he was told, leaving Gabriel to stand there, arms crossed defensively. He took quick stock of the exits, the guards, the secretary. None of them remotely a threat—but then again, this wasn’t a mission, was it? He wasn’t facing off against an army of omnics. It was just a conversation with an old friend— 

“As your representative from the United Nations, I’m here to inform you that Overwatch is under investigation.”

—or an enemy.

Jack frowned. “Why?”

“If Commander Reyes would join us…”

Gabriel stared Adock down and their eyes met in a silent war. Something had changed in the last few weeks. The soldier he’d saved from dying looked like he’d rather kill him than shake his hand. The man that had always acted like a star-struck little boy around him frowned at him instead. The scar across Adock’s eye looked more jagged, and Gabriel noted that he had let his hair grow out, the angular lines of his face now clean-shaven. Where Adock had once been his double, both in appearance and mannerisms, he was now completely and utterly unrecognizable.

“What’s this about, Eli?” Gabriel grated out.

“A seat, Commander Reyes.” Eli flashed him a tense, too-polite smile. “And it’s Mr. Adock. Please.”

Something dark and alien twisted in Gabriel’s chest. He took in a steadying breath to calm his growing irritation.

_… Just a side effect, my dear Commander…_

“Now…” Adock said once Gabriel sat down. “To begin, I want to thank Commander Reyes for his service in the Omnic Crisis. The way you led us to victory—you are, in essence, the world’s savior.”

“Cut the shit, Eli.”

“Reyes…“ Jack warned.

“This isn’t a battlefield, Commander Reyes. You have no authority he—“

“Is that what this is? A power trip?”

“Gabe, _please_.”

“From a boy with a crush to a man in charge—that how we’re gonna play this, Eli?” Gabriel smiled icily. “Fine. Give me your best shot.”

Redness flushed Adock’s face and a flicker of _something_ shot through his eyes. They squared off; Adock working his jaw, Gabriel never once letting his wry smile falter. Somewhere, Jack cleared his throat. “What are the UN’s accusations against Commander Reyes, Mr. Adock?”

As quickly as it had come—anger, embarrassment, Gabriel couldn’t tell—it disappeared. Adock folded his hands neatly and plastered a fake smile on his face. “Let’s begin with a basic inquiry, shall we?”

“About?“

“Agent Jesse McCree.”

Gabriel stopped smiling. All at once, the room closed in on him, his head spun—he stopped breathing. The _tap, tap, tap_ of the tablet’s keys pounded against his skull. If they had anything on Jesse, anything at all… 

“How old was he?”

“I’m sorry?” Jack said.

“When he was recruited into Overwatch?” _Not Blackwatch_. “His age, Strike Commander Morrison?”

“At least early twenties,” Jack answered. “Why?”

“ _At least_. Seems as if you don’t know for sure.”

“I don’t keep all th—“

“Our records indicate he was seventeen.“

“Then your records are _wrong_ ,” Gabriel stated with the weight of a dropping anvil. 

“You _do_ realize there are penalties and legal repercussions for recruiting an underage agent, _don’t you_?”

“That’d matter if we recruited kids, _Adock_ ,” Gabriel growled. “Which we don’t, haven’t, and never will.”

“Hm. I see." Adock leveled him with a glare, a reckoning. “And was he a _kid_ when you started fucking him, Commander Reyes?”

It happened too fast. Gabriel lunged across the table, hand going for Adock’s throat. Then Gabriel was against the wall, pinned, before he could even think. Jack held him there, eyes flashing. He’d always been faster, more nimble, but Gabriel always seemed to forget how fucking fast he could truly be. Gabriel jerked away from him, staring at Adock, who stood on the other side of the table. Red faced, shocked, then quietly gleeful. All he wanted to do was strangle the life out of Adock, watch his eyes roll back. But Gabriel knew he couldn’t, and he stood there, quaking, his muscles drawn impossibly tight.

“Gabe…”

His jaw clenched, his teeth aching under the pressure.

“Gabe, _look at me_.” When Gabriel finally did— “What’s with you, huh? You really want to piss these guys off and bring this whole operation down on our heads? No? Then get your head on straight and _think_. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” Jack looked him in the eyes. “I need you to keep your cool, Reyes. You hear me?”

“Then _you_ fucking deal with him.”

“He’s not going to let me answer these questions for you. You need to play along.” Jack took in a deep breath. “I can’t save you from this one.”

“Who says I need saving, Morrison?” Gabriel snapped back.

“ _I do_. I’ve been saving your ass for _years_. Now, I need you to trust me,” Jack said, and then, “And for fuck’s sake, _fix that_ before they haul us out by our asses.”

Gabriel followed Jack’s gaze down to his clenched hands. Thin tendrils of black ash billowed up from his fingertips. Under Jack’s glare, he forced his errant cells back together again. _Just a side effect, my dear Commander_ , Moira had said. So had been the anger, his near-constant sour mood. His violent urges…

Jack looked at him, really looked at him, then nodded before retaking his seat. Gabriel did his best to collect himself while Adock met his glare head-on, jaw set in a defiant line, and cleared his throat. 

“Shall we continue?” No answer. “Was Agent Jesse McCree of legal age when you began your relationship with him?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Gabriel answered.

“And what was his age?“

“Does it fucking matter?”

“Gabe…” Jack sighed.

“It matt—“

“He _was_ , and _is_ , a consenting adult, who can decide for himself who he wants and does not want to fuck. Is that clear enough for you, Adock? Or should I go into more detail?”

Adock cleared his throat, going silent long enough—the _tap, tap, tap_ of tablet’s keys had stopped. Gabriel looked at the woman, her eyes cast downward, long fingers still, shaking. _Nervous_. With his SEP hearing, he tuned into her heart, banging wildly against her ribcage. He sent a pointed look at Jack, then at the woman.

Something was wrong.

All of this was _wrong_.

“Did you coerce him in any way? Force him—“

“For fuck’s sake, Eli,” Gabriel hissed.

The woman tapped out a word or two, nervously looking up between them, typing enough to go unnoticed but not recording the entirety of the conversation. Jack was staring at her, studying her, fingers splayed across his cheek.

“You, of course, being the commander are at an advantage when it comes to Overwatch’s hierarchy,” Adock went on to say, “The power imbalance—it’s a concern. If Agent Jesse McCree somehow felt pressured or harassed, or that his position at Overwatch was in jeopardy in any way…”

“It is a consensual, _fair_ , two-way relationship, goddamnit,” Gabriel barked.

“Between a subordinate and a higher-ranking officer. It garners concern. Not to mention the age gap.”

“Oh, so now the fucking _age gap_ is a problem?”

“If everything’s so normal, then why didn’t you file the necessary paperwork? Strike Commander Morrison, did you receive any paperwork?”

“No, I did not,” Jack answered flatly.

“Did you know prior to any of this about the relationship between Commander Reyes and Agent Jesse McCree?”

“Yes, I did. I’m not a fool.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw, not bothering to look at Jack. They’d been careful, secretive, or so he thought. How Morrison knew was beyond him.

“And I ask again: why didn’t you file the necessary paperwork, Commander Reyes?” Adock asked.

Because what was between he and Jesse was none of Overwatch’s goddamn business. It was _theirs_ ; precious and sacred. He couldn’t bear the UN finding out about it, picking at it like some gross, unknown species. Claiming what they had together was wrong, disgusting, or inappropriate. Gabriel had given up so much already. For God’s sake, let he and Jesse have this single ounce of paradise. _Alone_. 

“An oversight,” Gabriel deadpanned.

“A rather large oversight, considering the questionable nature of your relationship.“

“Are we done here?”

“No, I’m afraid not, Commander Reyes. You don’t seem to realize the gravity of the situation. Not only is your relationship with Agent Jesse McCree questionable, it is actually quite… _problematic_.”

“ _Fuck you_ , Adock,” Gabriel growled.

“Goddamnit, Gabe,” Jack sighed.

Adock just smiled. “Case in point, the United Nations requires—“

“ _Paperwork_ ,” Jack cut in. “I know the rules, Eli, and if paperwork is all you need, you’ll get it.” A beat, then, “I think we can all agree no rules or laws have been broken here. Not only is Commander Reyes the savior of the world, as you said so yourself, Mr. Adock, he also knows what he’s doing. If he says his relationship with Agent Jesse McCree is fair and consensual, I have no reason to doubt him, and I hope you agree.”

“It is quite frankly not up to me, Strike Commander Morrison. It is up to the United Nations, at the conclusion of their investigation.”

“Uh huh. Something tells me you’ve got nothing on Reyes and McCree. Otherwise, this would’ve been taken through proper, official channels, with _lawyers_. She’s not even recording this conversation.” Jack gestured.

The woman blushed and put her hands in her lap.

“So, what’s this really about, Eli?” Jack prodded. “You trying to embarrass a fucking war hero because you got your heart broken? That what this is? You jealous because your idol’s fucking someone else? Is that worth your _job_?”

Adock clenched his jaw and his fists, flushing a brilliant red. Gabriel couldn’t keep his grin in check. He leaned into the wall, relaxed—

“This is about _Blackwatch_. And murder and torture—and a fucking brilliant man who fell from _grace_.”

—then felt suddenly unquestionably _afraid_.

“This conversation ends _now_ ,” Jack hissed, standing. “Contact our lawyers. Reyes, let’s go.”

Jack stormed out, leaving him alone with Adock and his entourage. The woman collected her things, darting out after Jack in a flurry of clicking heels and flowery perfume. When Gabriel approached, the two armed men stepped forward, tense, ready. Only after a nod from Adock did they leave, and the two men squared off.

_… It would be so easy to kill him._

Gabriel swallowed hard. “Why are you doing this, Eli?”

Adock put his tablet in his bag. Calm, collected. “Because you're a wicked, broken man who needs to be brought to justice.”

“Or you’re a petty little shit, just like Jack said,” Gabriel growled. “Which is it?”

Adock shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “Either fits. Pick one.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want?”

“Blackwatch,” Adock said. “I want it all. The murders, torture— _everything_.”

“And if—“

“You don’t cooperate?” Adock smiled ruefully. “As lead investigator, I’ll make sure Agent Jesse McCree gets all the limelight. He’ll be the villain in my little story.”

Gabriel stood there, staring, hard and cold. Whatever Moira had planted inside him—it burned hot, angry, trembling under his skin, fighting to get free. He wanted to kill Adock, here, now, spill his guts across the floor. He saw red, nothing but red, red, _red_ …

“Keep Jesse out of this,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “All of it.”

“What are you saying, Commander Reyes? You want me to lie?” Adock asked coyly.

“No, I want you to omit certain details.”

“Sounds like a lie to me.”

“Call it what you want,” Gabriel snapped, “You want this to be your big step up into the real fucking world? You want Blackwatch on a silver platter? _Fine_. I’ll give it to you. Just keep Jesse out of it, you hear me? _I_ ordered those hits. _I_ ordered my men to torture. Got it? Do not mention Jesse, our relationship—none of it."

Adock looked at him, a touch softer. “You must care about him.”

“I love him with everything I am.”

The way Gabriel said it—backed with his whole heart and purposefully cutting—sent Adock back a step. Jealousy warped Adock’s face, and he frowned, deep and hateful. “That love will cost you dearly, Commander Reyes. Your job, your friends…”

“Take them. It’s all meaningless without Jesse.”

Adock tsked. “You’re on a self-inflicted path of destruction, all for one man.”

“And I’d walk it a hundred times if it means he goes free.”

“Fine. Give me everything on Blackwatch and your precious _Jesse_ goes free.”

They shook on it. 

Weeks later, his world began to crumble.


	2. Day 2 - Desolate

  
  


“We need to leave, Gabe. Leave it all behind. Blackwatch, the UN breathin’ down our necks—all of it.” Jesse sighed into the night. “We ain’t got no other choice.”

They stood side by side on the cliffs overlooking the Swiss Base. It was their spot when things got rough, when they needed a moment together, a break from the chaos of their lives. As the chilly wind buffeted against them, they sought each other’s heat, their breath wispy little clouds between them. With Jesse so close, his eyes big and brown and pleading, it was harder for Gabe to resist. By all accounts, he should leave. Disappear. Run away with Jesse and hide until this all blew over. The UN was closing in on him with accusations upon accusations: murder, kidnapping, torture—all true. He’d be sacrificed as a villain to the world. No one would blame him or Jesse for vanishing into thin air.

But a coward wasn’t who he was.

“Gabe…”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t leave, Jesse.”

“An’ why the hell not?”

_Because I need to be sacrificed—to save you._

“Because what kind of man would I be then? A coward?”

“You sayin’ I’m a coward for wantin’ to leave?”

Gabriel sighed. “No, Jesse. Of course not. But you don’t have agents that depend on you to keep them safe. You haven’t sacrificed _everything_ to keep Blackwatch alive.”

His lies and half-truths pushed Jesse away, and the cold wind rushed in to fill the vacancy.

“No, not everythin’. Just my entire life.”

“Jesse…”

“No, I get it. You’re the war hero with everythin’ to lose. I’m just some piece of trash you keep around for convenience. I get it. Time to throw me away, I reckon. Is that it?”

This wasn’t the time to placate his hurt ego. Gabriel bit his bottom lip, changed gears. He didn’t correct him this time because he needed Jesse to leave. When the UN came for him—and they would, he knew—Jesse needed to be far away from it as possible. He couldn’t risk Jesse being taken. He would die before he’d ever let that happen.

“Gabe? You best tell me that ain’t it.”

“You’re a liability.”

That stole the breath from Jesse’s lungs. “The hell you say?”

“I probably wouldn’t be facing execution if it weren’t for you,” Gabe said coldly, gazing down at the base below. It hurt to talk, and every word clawed out of his throat, covered in as much hatred as he could muster. Inside, he was dying.

“You ordered me t—“

“Did I, Jesse? Or did you take to it naturally? How much of it was my order, and how much was it just you enjoying it, huh? The killing, the torture? You’re just as fucking guilty as I am.” Gabriel huffed out a bitter laugh. “I swear to God, had I known it’d come to this, I would’ve let your ass rot in prison instead of giving you that deal.”

“You don’t mean that…”

“The hell I do,” Gabriel snapped, glaring at him. “I regret the day I first saw you, Jesse. And I sure as hell regret _ever_ taking it further than commander and agent.” He gritted his teeth. “You _ruined me_.”

Jesse shrunk back, eyes wide, mouth partly open. Shocked, hurt, _wounded_. Then his face hardened, and he was all stiff, angular lines. He worked his jaw, muscles pulsing under his cold-nipped skin. Thinking. Doe brown eyes narrowing dangerously. He let out a breath, half a laugh. The sound hung hollow in the air.

“Fine.”

The decision sounded like a death knell. Gabriel watched Jesse move away from him, his cowboy swagger burdened by the weight of his pain. Jesse jerked his bag up from the ground and threw it over a broad shoulder. “You ain’t never gonna see me again. I promise you that.”

“Good.” 

Jesse frowned and readjusted his hat, then left. No goodbye. No lingering one last look. Just there—then gone. Gabriel waited until he couldn’t hear Jesse’s cowboy boots in the tunnels. Then, he punched the cliffside bare-knuckled, cracking rock and bone, because pain was the only way he knew how to cope. Shadows and ash licked at his broken skin, rising off him like wraiths before vanishing in the cold wind.

The UN sacrificed him to the media in the weeks following Jesse’s departure. No mention of Jesse. As the world closed in on him, the desolation of Jesse’s absence made him more violent, angry and reckless. He let Moira do whatever she wanted to him, and found a reason to fight with Jack daily. Every waking moment was a curse. 

He couldn’t fully remember the day he’d died. Only that Jack had been there and they’d been arguing. There was an explosion, searing light—his last thought had been about Jesse.

His smile. His touch. The way he laughed.


	3. Day 3 - New

  
  


He woke up to same light that had ripped him apart. Shadowy figures danced at the edge of his vision, fading in and out. Sometimes, there’d be pain; other times, a warm wash of utter peace and calm. He heard voices. Instructions, medical jargon, in tones both hopeful and doomed. Conversations, but only bits and pieces.

_Is he going to…_

_I don’t…_

_… him alive... don’t care what it takes._

_.. waking up now._

_.. hear us?_

_He can hear us._

_Knock him out._

There were long stretches of nothingness. Moments of awareness. He woke up to Moira looming over him once, peering down at him with her mismatched eyes, a needle in her hand. “This might… sting a little.” The pain was _excruciating_. Adrenaline split him into ribbons of smoke and ash, then suddenly he was whole again, in a heap on the floor. Then, darkness and nothingness again.

Later, Moira told him he’d died. That the experiments she’d done on him had actually saved his life. What life? Gabriel sat in his bedroom, staring at his hands, tracing the scars, flexing fingers he could barely feel. The color had been sucked out of his skin. Instead of an earthy brown, it was an ashen gray, lifeless. He let his hands and fingers unravel in wisps of smoke, curling and stretching. She’d give him a new life, she said. He liked the last one better.

The tests and procedures seemed endless. Every night, he’d collapse in bed, exhausted and in pain. Whatever she’d done to save his pathetic life caused him to be in a state of perpetual agony, every moment of his new existence. But it didn’t match the pain of being without Jesse.

He’d never wanted Jesse to save him more than now.


	4. Day 4 - Burden

  
  


_Sunrise Motel, Texas_

Tendrils of smoke seeped under the door, through its weathered wood, its keyhole. He materialized on the other side—then split into an incorporeal cloud before the bullet ever hit him. He’d expected all of it: his reaction time and impeccable aim, the familiar sound of his revolver. Knew he still wore his ridiculous cowboy getup, and could almost taste the gun powder and whiskey in the air.

They moved around each other in the same way they always had in spars. Careful yet trusting. Their dance was a special one, the tension between them unchanged by time. Still, something felt _off_. A misstep here, an unfamiliar there. For a moment, McCree left his defenses wide open. Then, he shot—

—and missed.

Wood splintered behind him. His shadows advanced on McCree, and instead of shooting again, McCree waited, backing into a corner in the room. His cowboy hat hid his face, but Gabriel could see the strong outline of his jaw. Softer than he’d remembered, not as angular. His lips… not quite the same. But his energy, the way he moved, tracked him meticulously—it spoke everything Jesse McCree.

He formed too close, too fast, and McCree jerked off another shot. The bullet dug its way through armor and flesh, sinking deep into his side. The pain was brutal, and it downed him to his knees. His body refused to retreat to shadows, and all he could do was look up into the face of—

A shot rang out.

Empty shotgun shells rattled like bones on the floor. Gabriel frowned as the figure grabbed his stomach, looked down at his gaping wound, then slumped down the wall, to the floor. His cowboy hat slipped off his head and his shaggy brown hair curtained his face. Gabriel knelt there, drawing in a ragged breath, then listened. Beyond them, hover cars raced outside. A train blew by. Someone laughed in the streets.

No heartbeat.

When he could bear it, he finally moved and peeled off a talon-tipped glove. He ran his fingers through soft, brown hair, gripped it and pulled back. Blue eyes—not brown—stared back at him. His face wasn’t Jesse’s. Just a boy that looked like him, acted like him, _mimicked_ him well enough to get him killed.

He laid him down gently and put the cowboy hat over his face. The kid should’ve made different choices; he would still be breathing if he had. With aim like that, he could’ve been something. A Blackwatch agent in another life, maybe, instead of a corpse. He could’ve picked a different idol instead of a wanted man. If he had made more mistakes, not been so much like Jesse, he’d still be alive.

“Stupid boy.” 

He nestled the revolver in the man’s hands, put them on his chest, then stood. The motel room looked more like a shrine to the real Jesse McCree, with Jesse’s wanted posters plastered all over the walls and a map with little pins, lines drawn between each. Locations, news articles, sightings. A real Jesse McCree devotee.

Another bolt of sharp pain jolted him. He caught his balance on the desk and suffered through it. Tried to step into the shadows again, but aborted it in a shower of ash when the pain became too much. He stood there, trying to level his breathing and concentrated on anything else. The smear of black mold clinging to one of the corners in the ceiling. Somewhere, the _drip, drip, drip_ of a leaky faucet. Sunlight filtered in through the moth-eaten curtains, and the whiskey glass on the desk seemed to radiate warmth. It glimmered a golden brown, much like Jesse’s eyes had when he told a joke, laughed, or was about to play a stupid trick on Jack. He was struck by the burden of Jesse’s ghost then. Of how much he missed him, needed him, of how many times he thought he’d seen him—and chased him, only to end up disappointed.

He gave the boy another sneer.

A hundred Jesses from posters and articles judged him. He took out a knife, dug the bullet out, then seeped into the floor to escape what was and what could have been.


	5. Day 5 - Sensitive

  
  
The hypertrain zipped east toward Houston, carrying cargo that would make Talon a leading force in the world. Elsewhere, the hideout buzzed with activity. Agents relayed his orders through comms to those out in the field while he stalked behind them, observing. Everything was going according to his carefully laid-out plans. Until…

_"Backup! Send backup!”_

“What’s your status, Talon Two?” one of his agents asked.

_“I want backup!”_

“On their way. There’s a tunnel up ah—“

_“I don't care what's up ahead! I want—oh. Never mind, Talon One."_ A beat, and then— _"McCree? Is that you? I swear to God, I will kill—"_

Static.

One by one, his agents’ biotrackers went offline. Cold steel settled in his gut. He clenched his fists.

_Jesse_.

“Clear the comms,” he barked. “What’s your status, Talon Two?”

No answer.

“They’ve secured the drop, sir, and the media is already blaming McCree for the hijacking. Do you have any orders?”

“Get them out of there—and find Sombra. _Now_.”

For weeks, Sombra tracked Jesse, gathering sensitive information and pinning down his location to a bar in Castillo, Mexico around Christmas. Apparently drunk and passed out beyond what was sensible and safe for a wanted man.

_What are your orders, boss? Kill him? Let him go?_

He’d hesitated with his answer.

_Let him go._

He’d planned to never see or think about him again. But then Sombra showed up one day with what she said was a Christmas gift, even though neither of them celebrated it. 

“Thought you might want to keep track of your little friend,” she’d said and handed him a tablet. 

McCree’s newly planted biotracker sparked to life on the screen, heading north.


	6. Day 6 - Pattern

  
  


Red-rock canyons reached for the sky all around him. The air, dry and stagnant, whistled through, blowing tumbleweeds across the road. Hoots and hollers from deeper in the canyon told him he wasn’t alone. Rough voices bounced off rock, their accents dripping with the south. He should’ve cleared out the Deadlock Gang years ago but hadn’t, and their numbers had surged. But that wasn’t why he was here—to tie up a loose end. Jesse had come through here a day ago, but hadn’t stayed long enough to rekindle old contacts, make a deal, or kill any of his old friends. Why then?

Perched atop the train’s broken spine, he calculated his route, stepping seamlessly into the shadows to materialize at the base of a thick rock formation. A small man-made bridge towered over him, and a welcome sign— _Welcome to Deadlock Gorge! Pop Go Away_ —stood directly catty-corner to his location. There, in the middle of the road, the Deadlock gang carried weapons off the payload. They shared grins and pats on the back, and while they were distracted, he slipped past them, up the winding passage behind Big Earl’s. A massive man popped out of the thruway to his right, and he instinctively split into ash, dipping through the long corridor of rock that emptied out into a long street and a cluster of buildings. He huddled in the shadows. If anyone had been alerted to his presence, they hadn’t cared enough to react.

The tablet in his coat blipped, indicating that Jesse was on the move again—east this time. He could catch up to him if he traveled all night, but something in him begged him to stay, to check if _it_ was still there, if anything had changed; the place where he’d first met a young Jesse McCree.

Curiosity had gotten the better of him.

He floated like a trick of the mind toward The High Side, shadowstepping up onto the upper level balcony. The old tavern had been left empty and, from what he could remember, mostly unchanged. The same smell of whiskey and cigar smoke hung in the air. Soft jukebox music hummed from the floor below. Hover bikes rumbled. The upper floor stored weapons, food, supplies now. But years ago—

There, in the corner. He remembered a wide-eyed Jesse McCree, barely out of his twenties, holding his revolver with his back against the wall. Advancing on him had been a mistake, and Jesse had taken a daring shot, purposefully missing, just to let him know he wouldn’t be pushed around. Here, now, he could almost smell the fear and gunpowder in the air, the raw defiance that rolled off Jesse in waves. The bullet hole was still there, too—that and _something else_.

—a picture, attached to the wall by tape. It was the two of them; a young Jesse with his arm slung boldly over his Commander’s shoulders. Grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world. While he himself wasn’t smiling, he wasn’t necessarily frowning either. Just… stoically bemused—he’d never learned how to control that glint in his eyes; happy whenever Jesse was around, a shade of irritated any other time.

He plucked it off the wall and ran a taloned finger over Jesse’s face, then turned it over. _Our beginning_ was scrawled messy on the back, barely legible. Ana had been envious of Jesse’s beautiful handwriting once. He wondered if it had worsened over time because of Deadeye—or because of the drinking.

Jesse knew he was following him, then. The photo was evidence to that fact. It was a stark reminder of how they met—and of how incredibly intelligent Jesse McCree was and had always been.

::: 

It was a small town back then. A few hover cars, a traffic light, one convenient store; the kind of place that never made it on any map. Blink once and anyone could’ve driven right through it. It’d been caught up in one of the later omnic flares. Completely wiped out, save for one house that’d been seemingly built to withstand the worst the world could deal out. Shutters hung loose by rusted nails, its paint stripped in places, desaturated completely in others. It served as a makeshift motel once. Now, it was a smear of a memory.

He stood in the room they’d shared long ago, him and Jesse. Their first night as more than commander and agent, much more than friends. He stared at the bed, not much more than a few pieces of wood and scraps of thread. The memory was as tangible as the taloned hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The whiskey on his breath as Jesse kissed him, the noise at the back of his throat when he kissed him back. They’d been fervent in their lovemaking, confessions whispered between kisses and wandering hands. They’d loved each other for years, but rules, pressure, and timing had held them back. That night, in blissful stupidity, they promised to never leave one another, but the world had different plans.

Memories of them in each other’s arms warmed him as the cold winter wind blew. Something silver and glinting caught his eye, dangling there on a stray nail. He melted into the shadows, reformed, and plucked it free. It clinked hollow in his glove—and he recognized it immediately. His dog tags. In a useless, romantic gesture, they’d exchanged dog tags that night. Something that meant nothing to him now, but made the difference between life and death then. Where he’d lost Jesse’s, he didn’t know—and he suddenly ached with its loss.

He refused to spiral down that hole again, the vast and empty space that Jesse had left inside him. It was a gaping wound he’d learned to bandage over with anger and hatred. He clenched the dog tags tight, letting shadow and ash fall off him like mist. Then he saw it, another note. 

_Our middle…_ same messy scrawl.

A pattern. Beginning, middle—

He didn’t need to look at the tablet to know where Jesse was headed to next. Their story only had one ending.

:::

He hadn’t completed his transition from death to life before they’d had his funeral. If he’d cared to look, and he _hadn’t_ , he would’ve learned through newspapers that only a few agents had shown up to say goodbye. It’d been a small, quick affair with simple words and few tears shed. Sombra helpfully supplied one day that Lena, Reinhardt, and _some cowboy_ should be the last to die should he decide to hunt down ex-Overwatch members. 

The graveyard was small and private, tucked away like a dirty secret, just like Sombra had described. Reserved for prominent political figures with dark paths in life. _Problematic_ yet considered honorable enough to be buried at all. Murder, torture, and kidnapping would’ve earned him an unmarked grave had he not also saved humanity from ruin. So, the UN did the bare minimum; they buried him, but tried to suffocate his memory.

He didn’t know if, when he got there, his grave would be overrun with weeds, unkempt or—

_Immaculate_. His headstone gleamed as if someone had taken the time to polish it. His name was as pristine as the day it’d been carved. And not just newly cared for either, but cherished over the years as if someone had kept watch over it all this time. A bouquet of fresh flowers—sunflowers, Jesse’s favorite—lay on the headstone, bleeding color onto pale granite. No note, but then he didn’t need one. He wondered for a second if this was Jesse’s way of saying goodbye, _for good_ , but why go through all this trouble? It didn’t make sense, unless… 

There were pages still left unturned in their little story. 

He dissipated into ash and headed north.

There was only one place Jesse would want _them_ to finally end. The only place either of them felt truly safe.


	7. Day 7 - Defy

  
  
Bright, ever-green foliage cast a thick pillow of darkness on the ground. Above, a murder of crows rustled in the boughs, shrieking before taking off for the evening, south to the rookery. Here in the north, atop the mountain, it’d always been cold no matter what the season, and a northern wind blew, merciless and biting. It reminded them of Switzerland, they’d once said. Of home.

He didn’t have to search to know where the entrance to their safe house would be. It was tucked away near a cluster of rocks, against the mountain wall, its hatch rusted and secure. He manifested and yanked on the handle, and with one more cursory glance, he slipped down the hole like liquid ink poured down the drain.

They’d used this place in times of dire need. Times when either of them had been separated during a mission, exposed and needed a place to hide. It was the one place they knew where to find each other. It was as constant as time and breathing, as solid as earth and rock. And it was the only place they’d ever felt truly safe.

Inside, the lights were already on. Soft music played from somewhere, trickling down the hallway. The smell of cigar smoke, whiskey— _Jesse_ —filled his lungs. He didn’t know how this would end, if he’d make it out alive, but he didn’t care. He had to see him again.

He wound through the halls like darkness to the wind. Passed a few unused rooms, nondescript and useless, their hovel of a kitchen, their makeshift bedroom. They’d spent countless nights there, tangled up in the sheets, touching each other, obsessed, heady and in love. But that was another life away. 

The common room opened up, dark yet somehow warm. Dim lighting gave the furniture long shadows, but even in the darkness his shape was unmistakable. Though Jesse was less broad now than he had been in the days of Blackwatch, he still had a commanding presence. It filled up the room with a familiarity that left him aching. He should’ve been more cautious, but everything _Jesse McCree_ —his Jesse—made him go against common sense. Suddenly, he didn’t care about potential escape routes or traps. He just wanted to be near him, stupidly pulled to him like a moth to a flame even after all these years—and if he got burned, well…

Jesse’s back was to him, and he took a moment to memorize everything he could. The strong lines of his shoulders, his hair long and shaggy, not as neat as it used to be. His posture wasn’t as straight and not nearly as proud. Jesse hunched over like a man with a thousand pounds hanging from his neck. And the liquor—he could smell it from here as if Jesse bathed in it daily. Maybe he was a little more gaunt too, or maybe it was the play of light and shadow over his figure, jutting angry angles on the floor. He shouldn’t worry, but he couldn’t help it. Jesse was and would always be a part of him.

The cant of his cowboy hat told him that Jesse was aware of him. The tip of his cigar flared red, then dulled like spent ember. Smoke billowed from his mouth, snaking up toward the ceiling. When Jesse moved—

He burst into shadows and snapped together behind him, shotgun drawn and jammed at the back of Jesse’s head. Jesse froze for a second and lifted a hand up in surrender. “Just need a drink, sweetheart. That okay?” He realized then that Jesse hadn't been reaching for his gun there on the table—how did he miss that?—but for the whiskey glass instead. He didn’t say anything, still stuck in that honey-sweet drawl. 

Jesse sipped at the glass as though he had all the time in the world. “Never believed you were dead,” he said. “Came here after they’d buried you, you know. Stayed here for months, hopin’ you’d show up with that smile on your face like you’d played the best trick in the book.” Jesse chuckled. “Always did love that smile of yours.”

He didn’t respond.

“I waited for you. Came every year on the anniversary of your death. Never did show up, did you. All those years, Gabe—you ever think of me?”

_Every moment_.

No answer.

“If you’re goin’ to kill me, might as well get it over with. Didn’t much like my life after you’d left it anyhow.”

“ _You_ left _me_.” The accusation left his mouth cold and angry, dragged harsh over years of resentment.

A sly smile warped Jesse’s lips, a small victory for getting him to talk. “Knew you’d say that. After all these years, still know you better than I do my own hand.” Jesse took another drink. “That whole leavin’ thing—I agonized over that for years, but then I got to thinkin’ about it a little more. You know what I realized?”

“Can’t wait.”

“You wanted me to leave as much as I wanted leavin’. Had to be the hero, didn’t you? Couldn’t come with me ‘cause someone had to fall for all the shit Blackwatch did and you thought: might as well be me. That sound about right?” Jesse chuckled again. “Why didn’t they come for me, Gabe? You strike some deal to keep me safe?”

Again, he didn’t answer.

“Point is, Gabe, can’t blame me for leavin’. You didn’t stop me neither. Hell, practically shoved me out the door yourself.”

_I had to_.

“Bullshit,” he hissed. “What am I doing here?”

“Thought we’d fight like an old married couple for a while. Get drunk, talk about the good ol’ days. Maybe fuck, if you’re lucky.”

“I don’t think so.”

He nudged the shotgun against his head. One shot would write the ending to their story. Send his past, his now, and whatever he could have had for his future all over the walls in a fine red mist. The urge to end everything—his own misery, Jesse’s pathetic life—was there. He wanted to shut off this.. _need_ for Jesse like a light and fill the holes Jesse McCree had left behind. It took everything he had, every instinct, to defy that necessity of self-preservation, to defy every reason and innate want to kill him. He backed away, lowered the gun—

“Gabe,” Jesse whispered in the dark. “Stay with me. I don’t want it to end like this. Not again.”

He could’ve left right then. Became mist, fled, and never looked back. And he should have, but instead stayed, defying everything he’d become to solidify next to him. They stared at the wall together. Minutes passed, maybe even hours, he didn’t know. 

“Where’d we go wrong, Gabe?” Jesse asked.

“Where _didn’t_ we go wrong?” was his answer.

Jesse smirked, a playful little thing that didn’t belong here. He could read _in the bedroom_ on his face, and when Jesse looked up at him, his smirk blossomed into a wry grin, then immediately fell. His face drew in on itself, his brows knitted, his lips tight. Jesse whistled out a sigh. “What happened to you, Gabe?”

“Life. Death.” He met his eyes.

_Everything in between_.

For whatever reason, his answer brought Jesse to his feet, close, within a few scant inches. It could’ve been a canyon because that’s how far apart they seemed to be, in two whole separate worlds. But that didn’t stop Jesse from reaching out from his, fingers drifting in front of his face. Instinctively, he pulled back, just his head, but not far enough. Jesse’s body heat was his gravitational pull and he naturally drifted into Jesse’s orbit, just like he always had.

Stale air hit his skin when Jesse pulled the mask away. Jesse sucked in a breath, seeing what he’d become for the first time. Brown eyes rolled over his face, burrowing into gouges and scars, cutting against his mouth; serrated and wide on one side. If Jesse had been disgusted, he never showed it. But then again, his poker face had always been one of the best.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Jesse said cheekily, then smiled.

Everything in him recoiled. It was a complete lie and he wanted to escape, run away from the memory of what he’d been. Jesse sensed that urge, as he’d always done, and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him in. His lips were soft on his and were exactly what he’d remembered. Just as eager, just as loving—and he _ached_.

Jesse couldn’t want him now, torn and broken, ugly and ruthless. He was a monster, yet none of that translated into how Jesse kissed him; gently, as delicate as anyone would handle fine china. Jesse pulled him in even closer, and when Jesse backed up, he went along with him. They bumped against the wall, breathless, nearly panting. The thrill of kissing him again, of having him close, in his arms—it was everything he could’ve ever wanted. The thought of losing him again… he hadn’t felt fear like this in _years_.

His tether to this world began to unravel. Shadows trembled off him and his edges began to blur. Vulnerable, he couldn’t fight his natural flight-or-fight instinct. He couldn’t hurt Jesse, not ever again, so he’d flee, run away and disappear forever. But Jesse wouldn’t let him. Jesse just held onto him more and kissed him harder, whispering, “Stay with me,” between breaths. And he wanted to; stay with him until the world around them fell apart. His cells came together again, and for the first time in years, he didn’t hurt.

Jesse’s hands were just as eager, manipulating buckles and tac gear to sink his hand down and grab his hard cock. He nearly gasped, grunted instead, and reveled in how Jesse worked him in his fist, quick and sure. Though they’d been apart for years, nothing had changed. Not Jesse’s kisses, nor the way he handled him, the noises Jesse made in the back of his throat, or the way Jesse gasped when he touched him. He gripped Jesse’s dick hard, swallowed down Jesse’s tongue and crowded in around him to try and take up every millimeter of space. 

There was no elegance to their reunion. It was messy, desperate. They tried to make up for the years they’d lost with sloppy, unpracticed kisses, aborted jerks of each other’s cocks, as if they’d never quite made it to maturity. Jesse’s whiskey sour breath was thick against his face, the smell of their sex musky and ripe. He pulled Jesse’s hand off him and pressed their dicks together, taking both in hand. Jesse groaned as he pumped, hard and quick, their precome their only lubricant. When Jesse kissed him and sucked on his lower lip, he answered, kissing him back harder. Ever letting him go would feel like another death.

Their rhythm became quicker, his hand faltering as he got closer. Jesse panted against him, thighs trembling, groans deeper in his throat. He pressed their heads together and Jesse looked into his eyes, pupils blown wide. “L-leave with me,” he stuttered. Jesse licked his lips. “Leave with me… and never look back.”

He kissed him hard, held it there as long as he could bear, then whispered, “Yes.”

Together, they came hard, spilling over, hot and wet. They spent the night together, curled up in each other’s arms, just like they had so many years ago.

Talon never heard from him again. No one ever knew what had happened to Jesse McCree. Over the years, there were reports of a gunslinger, and where ever he went, a man in black followed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm awful at tagging correctly, so If I missed one, please let me know! <3


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